11 WORKS
BY DARLENE ZAGATA
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THOUGHTS ON LEARNING
Sometimes I think about what I've learned
throughout the years. A lifetime of
being taught what doesn't really matter
in the end. All the schools and books
can't teach the inner workings of spirit
or the yearning of a heart comparable to
the ever changing face of the mysterious moon.
I've learned that sad puppy dog eyes
conceal a lonely heart unable to bleed
and the music you loved when you were young
slips into the pocket of time and you have to
take it out every now and then to listen, I mean
really listen to the smile that will glow from
your seemingly ageless face once more.
I've learned that happiness is a thirst quencher
for parched existence that collapses in on itself
weak from wear unable to support its structure
and there's no point in trying to keep anything
because all is like water and life--touchable
only for the moment it passes through your fingers.
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STOP SIGN
The weather portrays the mood accurately;
it's iridescent, gray pallor washing away
the soot, the grime, the weight of the nations.
A howling wind stirs and slashes knife-like as
air raid sirens through the human heart of
innocents who want only to awaken again to
another howl or drop of rain, breathe a sigh.
A newborn child held to naked breast cries
and we cry with him--for him--for all who
pray for peace among the trail of thorns.
Over newspaper headlines of open fire
coffee tastes particularly bitter this morning.
A glance out the window draws attention to
a weather-beaten stop sign standing stoically
fighting against the onslaught of nature's force.
There it stood visibly shaken,
vigilant as fear in the face of its tormenter
standing guard against the storm.
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STILL THE MEMORY
Oh, still the memory of that day
ravages the recess of my mind
dancing on the fragile floor of my brain
with the metal touch of ice cold toes.
Images that swell in my throat are
coarse like a chunk of apple
swallowed before completely chewed.
But you have to laugh at the tenacity
of tragic memories--so stubborn
and determined they are--persistent-
How they anchor themselves to your mind
like steel they clench until they bleed
Yet the good ones, the happy ones--
they get dimmer and dimmer
each time they come to visit you
until they slowly, sadly fade away
slipping quietly from view as they wave.
Visits become shorter--less frequent.
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SOFT REGRET
How easily emotion can be aroused,
as green as envy--as fragile as glass.
As from a broken pipe it spurts forth
breaking plaster, smashing dreams.
Then when thunder calms its voice
whispers turn to silent tears
that wipe sad eyes with soft regret.
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SOCIAL GATHERINGS
You know I'm not one for socializing
though it was not my intent to hurt feelings.
I just can't allow myself to wallow in
sugared contempt and awkward aggression-
Just another droned out day
where battlegrounds are invitations.
Words are grenades thrown by sly remarks
that hurl contempt and leave battle scars.
A white flag waves yet they shoot to kill.
"We've got wounded over here," one yells.
"We've got more,"--The battle continues.
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SNOWBOUND
Like a brush against the earth
nature stroked her canvas white.
Beautifully each drop fell into place
until the portrait was complete.
Even then she did not stop
but piled the layers thicker still.
Slowly, silent beauty was drawn.
The canvas--a victim of onslaught.
Entrances to all were barred.
Those within were passengers
drifting into neutral mode.
Against the windows fogged with ice
time breathed a heavy sigh.
Consumed by deadly innocence
the weary bundled between walls.
Tempers flared-depression ruled.
What strange effect this beauty has.
Fluid hot sipped from warm cups
kept a silent watchful eye
toward the heaven's ivory crown
as winter feathers drifted down
slowly, softly to the ground.
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ODE TO SPRING
The air so fresh with life,
a new breath taken at last
brings a flutter of wings and
all that's new breaks forth from sleep.
But still a sadness lingers deep
within the womb of life death lives
hidden beneath a glint of light
that for a moment feigns renewal.
Then yesterday is a remembrance
of smiles tarnished by tears of fate.
Time brings to mind the flight of sparrows
and lawns mowed by unseen hands.
Those same hands--swollen, red
and chapped with the burdens of life
would have taken this spring day
rolled it into a round, orange ball,
dribbled it with a hearty laugh
and passed it lovingly to his son.
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KNOT
They strut boldly across the land.
By air and sea, they swarm.
Then they're gone--A lost era.
No more light to fill empty rooms,
the switch has been turned off.
No illumination from a burned out sun
to warm the cold depth of complacency.
All seems calm in an urgent landscape
where shaky fingers claw existence
in an attempt to make ends meet-
Only now the ends come together and tie
forming a brand new knot.
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I DIDN'T FORGET
She bent over to pick them up-
her fingers brushing lightly against
their synthetic leaves buried in rock,
the red petals still bright, unharmed.
We took the whole of it
went to the door that was locked,
at least I thought--yes
it was locked--wrong place anyway.
The locked door was like you
sealed against Heaven's vault.
We replaced the red petals with new.
The old ones sit in the living room
telling me what I told you.
I didn't forget.
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DON'T ASK FOR MY OPINION
Don't ask for my opinion
if you want it to be the same as your own.
Don't ask for my opinion-
You might regret it if you do
and possibly I may too.
I can't stop the slippery words
that wage war against each other
climbing over top one another
to fall blissfully from this tongue.
Some will go splat on their face;
others land on their feet so eloquently.
I am sinner who can't resist
when Satan places the victim before me.
I have been that victim.
I am that victim
and when he whispers in my ear
I can't resist...
My teeth bite into the succulent
red skin of reply with a vengeance-
an anger befitting Lucifer's fury.
The moment becomes a fit of seizures
as limbs tremble in a frenzy of animosity
and words scramble to have their say
through a voice possessed as if
by a legion of worldly demons
ready to defend their moss covered stance.
Yet here we remain in debate and confusion
sharpening our tongues for another day's battle,
licking, tasting--spitting out venom,
trying to convince ourselves of their divulgence
knowing underneath our borrowed skin
the garden never left these pale, blind eyes.
The serpent walks again on two feet,
always smiling, always upright.
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ANNOUNCEMENT
This announcement of war-
it walks barren across the land
like a decapitated corpse
rotted away--only skeletal remains
left to go on searching
for the skull of peace always carried,
tucked in the petrified crook of
the headless horseman's arm
but never allowed to be placed back
upon the shoulders of the world
where it should aptly sit.